Gently he picked her up, and carried her away, sobbing out his heart over her tinseled dress. But in a moment the music struck up, the whips cracked, and the circus was going again.
VI
I RELATE SOME CLOWN HISTORY
MANY people think that because the clown wears a grotesque garb and indulges in silly antics, that he is a buffoon all the time. They are very much mistaken. Like humorists, we take our profession very seriously, for it has traditions of real greatness.
I never quite understood this so much until I had an experience in Boston. We usually stay there a week, and this gives us a chance to get around and see the city. One hot June afternoon I was taking a street-car ride out towards the suburbs. It was so sultry that few people were stirring. For a time I had the car all to myself. Then a very dignified old gentleman came aboard and sat down next to me. We rode on in silence for a time until I made some remark about the weather. I am inclined to be friendly. We got to talking. Finally he asked me what my business was.
“I am a circus clown,” I replied.
He looked amazed. Then wiped his glasses, gazed at me, and remarked:
“It’s extraordinary. I thought you were a minister.”
Perhaps the white string necktie that I always wear fooled him, as it has fooled many other people. They seem to think that a clown should be grinning all the time or ready to turn a somersault.